


The Gay Bar Scene that never was

by MadSophHatter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confused Sherlock, Gay Bar, Humor, Jealous John, M/M, gay bar scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 21:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1956405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadSophHatter/pseuds/MadSophHatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gay bar scene from The Sign of Three as I envisioned it.</p>
<p>Featuring a confused Sherlock, halfnaked men, sexy dancing and John who is absolutely not jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gay Bar Scene that never was

**Author's Note:**

> So I went dancing and this Sherlock headcanon concerning the gay bar scene just happened. I apologise in advance for all the gay club clichés. I got them all from Queer as Folk (the American version).

It’s the fourth bar on Sherlock’s list. The, in his opinion far from witty, name is Barcode. Still, he chose the club, because it was the one closest to their murder site in Vauxhall. John and Sherlock are already a bit pissed as they enter. It is darker than the establishments they have visited so far – only a few red spots illuminating the room. The high volume music hits them like solid wall. Before Sherlock’s senses can adjust and take in his surroundings, John is already at the bar. He returns with two measuring cylinders of beer.  
The place looks quite empty probably because the evening is still young. A flight of stairs leads down presumably to a dance floor. The loud music effectively prevents John and Sherlock from conversing much so both men finish their drinks faster than Sherlock has anticipated. He’s busy trying to recalculate the effects of that development on his phone when John excuses himself.

“I’m gonna go to the loo. You can go down to the dance floor already. I’ll find you there.” 

 

Sherlock just nods curtly and starts walking in the general direction of the stairs, his eyes still glued to the display of his phone. He only has to glance up a few times to navigate the steps – not noticing that his movements are already getting clumsy from the shots John has secretly slipped into their beers. Sherlock stops a few meters from the stairs on the side-line of the dance floor.

When Sherlock finally looks up, his grounding shakes. The music that he has tuned out so far descends upon him at full tilt, hitting him like a fist in the groin. In front of him is a writhing mass of bare backs, chests and limbs. The crowd moves like one giant beast in time with the jarring rhythm of the dubstep music. Colourful spotlights wander over the pool of moving body parts illuminating a muscular upper arm here, a pierced nipple there – landing on glittering faces contorted in the ecstasy of the dance. The air is heavy with a cacophony of sweet and salty smells. Fragrances of different perfumes mingle with the scent of sweat and other body fluids. This Sherlock it is the odour of too many people.  
Sherlock’s overactive brain starts to process the scene in front of him. The crowd seems to be almost exclusively male. Many of the men are topless – showing off that they are in great shape, displaying well-defined abs and trained arms. Quite a few of them are covered in some kind of glittering body powder. The way they are dancing has little in common with Sherlock’s own ballet lessons or the old-lady-dances he had to accompany his mum to when he was a teenager. He can see sweat-slicked chests rubbing against each other, big hands kneading firm buttocks and swaying hips. 

All the new information rushing in on him has a rather novel effect on his body. He suddenly feels incredibly hot – more so than his coat and the heat of the room can account for. There is a wave of tingling going through his limbs and finally settling in the pit of his stomach just above the groin. Most of the heat accumulates on his face. The feeling is new and bizarre to him. In a futile attempt to place it his oversized brain goes into overdrive – leaving the expression on his face blank and his senses numb to his surroundings.  
That’s why Sherlock neither notices it nor reacts when a young blond man walks up to him and puts his hands around the detective’s neck. The stranger pulls himself up to talk into Sherlock’s ear.  
“All alone, you beautiful thing?” Prompted by the lack of response he adds, “Oh, we can’t have that. I’ll dance with you.”  
The man moves closer, one of his hands remaining on Sherlock’s neck while the other finds its way into his coat lightly caressing the detective’s flank. All the while Sherlock’s brain is still so preoccupied that he can’t even think of interfering as the other man starts to move his hips in sensual curves. The heavy saccharine smell of his body glitter gets to Sherlock’s head. He just stands there – stuck in his own head. 

 

After a rather embarrassing encounter in the loo John hurries across the bar area. It’s not every day that he gets offered a blowjob by a complete stranger – a pretty handsome stranger nonetheless. If John is honest, he has to admit that he feels slightly flattered by the offer. Declining it was the embarrassing part. He didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that the flamboyant detective had steered them to a gay club – probably unknowingly. So John tried not to mention his soon-to-be-wife as he let his suitor down offering the excuse that this was his stag night. A couple of years back the former soldier might as well have enjoyed that blowjob.  
Right now John pushes away that thought concentrating on his most urgent concern – Sherlock. If this club is anything like the establishments John frequented in his 20s, he can’t even imagine how Sherlock might react to it. Who knows if sex actually alarms him? Most of the time close contact and basic social interaction are too much for him. John is really only worrying about his detective’s warped kind of innocence. This has nothing to do with the fact that Sherlock might be down there dancing and flirting with other men. At least that is what the doctor tells himself repeatedly.

John curses himself for spiking their beers while stumbling down the stairs as fast as his drunken state allows. Finally in front of the dance floor it takes him less than a second to spot Sherlock’s tall, slender figure. But his former flat mate is not alone. A young man looking around thirty, sporting large black-rimmed glasses, lacking a shirt, is grinding against Sherlock in time with the music. John blames the dubstep vibrating through his skull for his sudden headache and the stairs for his heavy breathing.  
John is not jealous. He is worried about his best friend who looks almost frighteningly empty in the embrace of that boy. John is certainly not jealous. Not because of that ridiculously handsome young stranger who is literally dry humping John’s flat mate. Why would he be jealous of anyone touching his Sherlock? Before he can wonder where these thoughts are coming from, John has already started to move towards the two persons at the edge of the dance floor.

The intensity of John’s stare should legitimately burn holes into the back of the blond head. It must have some effect, after all the stranger turns around. John’s glare speaks volumes. It says, “Take your glittering paws off my man or I will rip them off your arms!” in every possible way.  
The stranger scurries away from Sherlock like someone who has been burnt. Message received. His hands go up in a both apologetic and defensive gesture. The young man mouths “Sorry, I didn’t know he’s yours.” against the loud music before seeking refuge in the crowd. It makes John stop in his tracks, wondering if he is really so obvious. Before he can ponder the deeper implications of the situation, he notices that he is already next to Sherlock.  
One of John’s hands finds Sherlock’s arm providing a tight and grounding squeeze while the other is waved in front of the detective’s eyes.  
“Earth to Sherlock! Are you in there somewhere?”

Sherlock stirs looking like he is waking up from a trance, taking in his surroundings for the first time. After blinking a few times he looks at the hand on his arm then up to John’s face. He looks earnest as he raises his voice to speak over the music.  
“John, I think we are in a gay bar.”  
“No shit, Sherlock.”

John tries to hide a slightly tortured grin as his hand slides down to Sherlock’s and gently takes hold of it. He takes the lead and pulls his detective up the stairs, through the bar and out into the cold night air – never noticing the deep blush that has crept onto Sherlock’s cheeks.


End file.
